


Exceeding expectations

by Builder



Series: Heroverse [19]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mission Fic, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sickfic, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 18:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15564261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: Just because Tony has a reputation for drinking doesn't mean he's always drinking.





	Exceeding expectations

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @builder051

Tony’s head throbs.  He swears he can feel it pulsating against the inside of his helmet.  He’s surprised FRIDAY hasn’t given him some kind of warning by now.  He expects her to let loose with an ‘excuse me, sir, but your head is about to explode.’

It’s a surprise when he gets, “Altitude declining,” instead.

“Huh?”  Tony hadn’t realized he’d altered the flight path.  He looks to the busted window midway up the skyscraper he’d been aiming for, then glances down to the sidewalk.  He makes a split-second decision to touch down.  He might get less in the way of motion sickness if he’s walking.

“What’re you doing, Stark?” Nat’s voice echoes through the comm in his ear.  

Tony flinches. “God, no need to shout.”  He hits the heel of his hand against the side of his helmet, but all he gets is an echo for his effort.

“I thought we were doing an air approach,” Sam shouts, glaring down at Tony.  “You gonna leave me up here all by myself?”

“Uh,” Tony starts.  His train of thought dissolves when he touches down and stumbles a few steps.  “I just…need a second?”

“We don’t have a second,” Nat snaps back.  “If you’re gonna hold us up, you might as well go wait in the car.”

“Excuse me, it’s a quinjet,” Tony mutters.  “I designed it.  Don’t disrespect it by calling it a car.”

“Whatever.”  He can practically hear Nat rolling her eyes.  “Get your ass back up there.  You’re not riding the elevator up with me.”

“Ok, ok, geez.”  Tony jogs down the sidewalk, trying not to lose too much ground as he regains his bearings.  It’s not helping much, though.  It feels like his stomach is bouncing through his chest on its way to his throat.

“You’re leaving me hanging, man!” Sam complains.  “Do you want me to wait for you or something?”  He flies in an arc above the broken window, then loops back down and hovers.  

“Don’t wait,” Nat says.  “Come on, Stark.”

“Yeah,” Tony gasps.  His jaw trembles, and he can barely pull in a breath around the bile rising in his throat.  “Just–” 

He barely has time to raise his mask before he pitches forward and vomits into the street.  Tony grabs at a parking meter to keep from falling.  Another heave wracks him, and he spits pitifully.

“Fuck,” Nat mutters.  “You should’ve given us some warning.”

“I didn’t think it was this bad,” Tony chokes.  He pulls in a deep breath, but the force of the sickness kicks the pain in his forehead up a few notches.  “I’m ok.”

“If you’re puking, you’re rarely ok.”  Sam soars toward Tony, away from the building.

“Stick to the mission,” Nat tells him.  “You’re not a PJ anymore, Wilson.”

“He’s hurting, though,” Sam says.

“Leave him be.  He’s probably hungover.”

“Hey!” Tony protests, fighting the urge to retch.  

“We should put a breathalyzer in the jet,” Nat says.  She reaches the front door of the building and looks over her shoulder.  “Am I really gonna have to do this all by myself?”

“I’m not drunk,” Tony rasps, wiping his mouth on the back of his metal-gloved hand.  “I have a fucking headache.”

Nat sighs.  “Are you good for the mission?”

“Yes,” Tony says, at the same time as Sam says, “No.”  

He touches down and claps a hand on Tony’s shoulder.  “This isn’t good for you or the team.”  He changes the channel on his comm and says, “We could use some backup.”

He lifts his goggles and peers into Tony’s face.  “You look like shit,” he says quietly.

“I feel it, too,” Tony mutters.

“You feel up to walking back to the car?  I mean, the jet?”  Sam breaks into a grin.

“You’re lucky I don’t feel up to punching you,” Tony replies.


End file.
